


Restraint

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, Canon Compliant, Dream Sex, F/M, In a way, Light Dom/sub, Missing Moments, Submissive!Jon, Wet Dream, dominant!Dany, from season 7, passing mention of Ygritte, you've been warned in case that's not your cup of tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 18:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: "Am I your prisoner?""Not yet."With the help of the Dragon Queen, Jon Snow discovers something about himself.





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jonerys Appreciation Week 2018 Day 2: Favorite Quotes. Just having a little fun ;)

* * *

 

“Look at me.”

At the command, Jon opened his eyes. In his confusion at having his sleep unexpectedly disrupted, his heart thundered against his ear drums. It didn’t help that he was in an unfamiliar place, far from home; the fire in the hearth had long burned out, and the night now ensconced him in darkness.

Yet, even in the dark, the queen shone like a beacon. That silver-gold hair and cream-colored skin. A white nightgown, wholly indecent for a near-stranger’s chambers. Even so, the sight of her calmed him, easing his fear.  _Her_ , his heart seemed to say as it slowed to a reasonable rhythm.

Until he realized his hands were restrained, his arms pulled above his head and tied to the oakwood frame of his canopied bed. His brain still muzzy, he shifted—and found his legs were bound, as well. Once more, fear curdled in his stomach.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice hoarse and creaky from sleep. Alarm harshened his words into a pointed accusation. “You told me I wasn’t your prisoner.”

Daenerys moved toward him, the nightgown rippling around her feet as if she were gliding on water. Her hair was down, lending her a softness so at contrast with the Dragon Queen he’d sparred with only hours ago in her throne room. But her purple eyes—they were as fierce as a raging summer storm.

“I did tell you that,” she spoke, her voice as sleek as a melody. He shivered involuntarily and swallowed against the dryness of his mouth. “As long as you gave me no reason to imprison you. Yet my men found daggers hidden away in your trunk. How can I trust you when you bring weapons into my castle, even after I’ve offered you safe harbor on my island?”

He stared at her, his mind racing as he mentally sorted through the contents of his trunk. He shook his head, exasperated, insulted she would search his private things. “They weren’t weapons. It’s dragonglass. I brought it to show you what I came in search of. What we need to defeat the Others. If you’d given me a chance earlier before dismissing me, I would have explained.”

She canted her head to the side, pinning him with that violet-hued gaze. “And why should I believe you, my lord? On your honor as a Stark?” She said it mockingly, though her lips were unsmiling. “Your family served the man who helped butcher mine. Who sent men to murder me. How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

His throat tightened. “I would never—” But he fumbled his answer, still not quite awake. Helplessly, his brain snagged on a useless refutation. “I’m not a Stark.”

This time, her mouth quirked, and she lifted her brow. “I see. It appears you want me to take you on your word. But—as you told me earlier—I don’t know you. I need more than that.”

Finally, understanding dawned on him. Jon gritted his teeth. “You want my fealty, but I can’t give that to you. I’m here for my people. My people who put their trust in me, their king. I can’t just bend the knee to you.”

She sighed and leaned against the bed post. “Oh, Jon.” He jolted at her familiar use of his name, her tongue caressing it with such intimacy and illicitness. The sound landed deep in his belly. “I don’t need you on your knees. I just need you to submit.”

Before he had a chance to ask what she meant, Daenerys grabbed the edge of his bed furs and pulled, dragging them down his body. Gooseflesh erupted across his skin as the cool air hit his torso. He looked down, and, to his horror, saw that he was naked.

His cock was hard as Valyrian steel, thick and red. He choked on a gasp, but her eyes danced with delight as she took him in. Futilely, he yanked on his restraints, but they held fast.

“You can’t—” Words failed him when she reached up to untie the laced fastening at her throat. Then, she tugged at the collar and slipped the nightgown over her shoulders. The gossamer fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her as naked as he was. She was a vision, her breasts lovely and full and rose-tipped. Her luscious hips flared out before sloping down into strong, shapely thighs, honed by years of horse riding—or, more likely, by years of dragon riding. Her cunt was shrouded in silver curls, denying him a peek of what lay beyond. His cock twitched, the tip already weeping onto his stomach where it rested, too heavy with blood to stand.

“I think,” she started, kicking her nightgown aside; his stomach clenched when her finger tips grazed the inside of his calf, “for all your protests, you  _want_ to submit to me. Or would you deny it?”

As she spoke, she trailed her fingers up the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his groin. His breath hitched, gaze hawkishly following the path of her hand, but before she could touch him there, she drew her hand away. His disappointment was swift and baffling, and Jon shook his head to dispel the notion.

He made a push to divert her. “If you release me, I could… _we_  could…” But his thoughts were too indelicate to give voice to. The moment she removed her nightgown, he’d lost his head.

“Release you?” she repeated, amused. Suddenly, she was on his bed, sitting astride his hips though she did not rest her weight on him. She leaned over him, bringing her face dangerously close to his. Her long hair spilled over his naked chest like trickling water in a cave wall. “But you’re the one who came to  _me_ , Jon Snow.  _You_ brought me here. This is what you want.”

Her words didn’t make any sense. Or maybe he just couldn’t think, not with her atop him so, her scent invading his lungs and making him heady with desire. Lavender, mint, and something he couldn’t decipher, something exotic and spicy. She didn’t touch him anywhere but for the faintest, maddening press of her thighs to his hips. He could feel the steamy heat of her cunt above him, letting him know she was as aroused as he was.

Jon drew in a shaky breath, giving the rope around his wrists another tug. “Not like this,” he said gruffly, closing his eyes so she couldn’t see there how much he wanted her. It was a useless endeavor, he knew; his cock had already betrayed him, laying bare his desire for her.

Daenerys reached up to still his hands and tenderly stroked the rough skin of his palms, before sliding the pads of her fingers down his arms to the crease of his elbows. His arms flexed, hard and tensed, and as her nails scratched a path over his triceps down to his armpits, he hissed out a sibilant breath. She pressed her hands to his chest; only then did he remember he had no way to conceal his scars from her. With some effort, he peeled his eyes open. She studied his chest pensively, caressing the scar over his heart.

Her voice was soft when she spoke. “You must feel like you have to be so strong. Strong for your men, strong for your family. There are so many people depending on you. The King in the North.” She tore her gaze from his scar and lifted her eyes to his face. “It would be so nice if someone took care of you for once, wouldn’t it? If you could just…let down your defenses. Let someone else be strong for you.”

His throat constricted and convulsed. How could she know? He hadn’t even known it himself until just now.

At his jerky nod, she leaned in and touched his face, fingers scraping through his beard, then up to his loose raven curls.

“Then let me be that for you, Jon Snow. Give yourself to me.”

As she threaded her hand through his hair, massaging her fingertips into his scalp, he felt each finger on his spine, a body-racking chill making every muscle in his body tighten in anticipation. “ _Yes_ ,” he gasped out. Even to his own ears, his permission sounded like a plea.

She descended on him, seizing his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue hot and silky against his. He arched into her, hungrily stroking his tongue into her mouth, but she grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back. Bewildered, he looked to her in question.

“I’m in control now. You do as I say,” she reminded him coolly, then she released his hair to drag her fingers down his torso. He was unprepared for when she suddenly seized his cock in her tiny, delicate hand, giving his engorged shaft a squeeze. “This is mine.” She squeezed him again, harder, and he jerked in her hand, hips lifting off the bed. “Say it.”

“ _Aye_ , it’s yours,” he snapped, breathing hard, angry with her demands, angry with himself for liking it. She smiled, gentling her grasp before she stroked her hand down his cock to cradle his balls. They were hot and heavy between his thighs, and he blew out a juddering breath, reveling in the faint pleasure of her hand fondling him.

“All of this.” She was close again, her breath on his cheek.

“All of it,” he agreed through clenched teeth. “It’s yours.”

Pleased, she purred in his ear, “Good.” Her teeth caught his earlobe and tugged before she sucked it between her lips. She released it and blew on the damp skin. “However, I’m afraid your queen requires attention first,” she whispered, licking her tongue along the shell of his ear. With that warning, she withdrew her hand from his groin. The abrupt loss of contact was physically painful, and he swallowed a groan.

“Release me, and I’ll give you what you want,” he told her, watching her through heavily lidded eyes. She smiled down at him, the quirk of her mouth taunting and cruel.

“No. You’ll give me what I want exactly as you are, my lord.”

As she sat up to brush her hair behind her shoulders, his eyes eagerly followed her, drinking in the slight sway and bounce of her tits. His mouth watered, ready to part and suck the tight furls of her nipples between his teeth as Daenerys shifted onto her knees and crawled up his body.

To his bemusement, however, she planted her knees on either side of his trussed-up arms. “You’re a man of few words, but I suspect you have better uses for that tongue of yours,” she teased, leveraging herself over his face by grabbing the oakwood rail where his hands were tied. Her cunt opened like a flower in spring, flushed and pink and slicked with dew. He sucked in a breath, filling his lungs with the musky bouquet of her womanly arousal.

She lowered her seat to his face, but he didn’t need to wait for her instructions to know what she wanted. He lifted his chin and took her cunt in his mouth before the command could even slip off her tongue.

“Oh!” she gasped, nearly jerking away from him in her surprise, but he sucked at her nether lips with a growl, then licked his tongue into the seam of her, catching the tangy nectar of her cunt. She tasted sweet and brackish, hitting him in the back of his cheeks, flooding his mouth with saliva. The faint perfume of her bath oils did nothing to muddle the taste of her. He thrust his tongue inside her, digging his chin into the soft crease of her arse to reach as deep as he could. Her channel was hot and velvety, growing slicker still as it rippled against his intrusion.

Daenerys groaned and grabbed a hunk of his hair again, rubbing her cunt against his lips and chin as he speared her with his tongue. “ _Yes_! Don’t stop!”

Her clitoris was swollen and plump, an arrow guiding him to where she wanted him, he knew. He dragged his lips and teeth up to the tender little knot, probably more harshly than she desired, but she merely gasped and bore down on him harder, undulating her hips in sinuous twists. He flared his nose for a deep, ragged breath—her scent was stronger now, sharp and pungent—and he lapped wolfishly at the fleshy nub and its hood until she was writhing and grinding against him with breathless cries. She was sopping wet, her juices seeping into his beard. His breaths were harsh and loud against her slick cunt, and his chest felt tight from the lack of air, though his cock throbbed with a pounding rush of blood. When he finally took her clitoris between his lips for an eager suck, she squealed and bucked, nearly tearing his hair out at the roots as she came.

Her thighs quaked around him, her moans softening, and he laved her sensitive nub with cautious flutters of his tongue before he released it, dragging his open mouth down to lick at the slick hole of her cunt, puffy and ready to take his cock. She shuddered again as he cleaned her of her juices, his breaths still staggered, echoing louder than hers.

Lifting onto her knees, she swung her leg to the other side of him and stretched out on the bed. He drew in a deep breath, and another, her scent lingering on his beard, in his nose. He licked at his lips, tasting her all over again, and swallowed greedily.

On her back, Daenerys steepled her knees toward the ceiling, rubbing her thighs together with apparent relish. Her sigh was soft and musical, almost delirious. “I didn’t know…” She didn’t finish her thought, moving her hand between her thighs to touch her cunt, her silver curls damp from her want and his tongue. She trembled faintly and sighed, reluctantly withdrawing her hand. He watched as she cupped her breasts in her palms, leisurely squeezing the pert little mounds. He let out a helpless sound when she pinched and tugged at her own nipples, making the pink tips darker and stiffer with her attentions.

At the noise, her eyes opened and found his. Though he knew it was pointless, he jerked at his restraints and asked as silkily as he could manage in spite of the edge to his voice, “I could do so much more with my hands. Let me show you, Daenerys.”

Her expression turned impish, and she stopped fondling her tits, rolling onto her side to face him. “I never gave you permission to use my name,” she reprimanded him tartly.

His jaw flexed. “Your grace,” he amended grudgingly.

“My queen,” she demanded, her eyes dancing.

He growled low in his throat, the sound full of frustration and—gods have mercy, what was wrong with him?—excitement. “ _My queen_ ,” he ground out.

She rose onto her elbow. “I don’t think you truly understand, my lord.” She studied him, her gaze sweeping down the length of him to rest on his erection. “No, not yet. I think you must be punished for your presumption and insubordination.”

Jon opened his mouth to retort but wisely thought better of it, biting down on his tongue. He glared at her, eyes rapt as she sat up. His anger gave way to confusion, however, when she turned away from him to straddle his waist, her back to him. While he couldn’t see her face, he had a wonderful view of her arse now, her cheeks smooth and rounded and perfect for sinking his teeth into, like a ripe peach. Instinctively, he reached for her and remembered all too quickly his restraints. He groaned. This was bloody torture.

“Daen— _my queen_ ,” he began tightly. He turned his glare to the canopy over his bed, feeling petulant. “What are you— _may_  I ask what you’re planning to do?”

“You may not,” she said over her shoulder. As simple as that. “You’ll see.”

Any reply was lost when she lifted his swollen cock from his belly, fisting it in her hand. She gripped him firmly, stroking his cock from root to tip, then dropped her chin to engulf him in her mouth. Sweet relief sung through him, and he gasped in surprise, thrusting into her mouth. She held him back, grabbing the base of his cock and pushing him down into the bed as she sucked and licked the head.

“ _Daenerys_ ,” he groaned, heedless of her previous warning. Abruptly, she scraped her teeth along the underside of his cock in retaliation, catching on the ridge. Jon choked back a sound of pain and gripped the rope in his hands, straining against it to refrain from bucking or crying out in shock.

Satisfied with his compliance, Daenerys resumed sucking his cock, her head bobbing over him, her tongue playing around his tip with gentle flicks. He bit his lip, swallowing his sounds as long as he could, but as soon as she took his balls in hand, he let out a guttural moan.

Looking down, Jon watched her work, the split of her thighs allowing him to watch his cock disappear into her mouth. Her breasts hung heavy between them, her nipples digging into his hips every time she swallowed him down to the root. With her legs spread, he could see the pink of her cunt, the gloss of her nectar slicked from her pubic hair to the pucker of her arsehole.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his balls tight and uncomfortable, his cock thick in the wet, sucking vice of her mouth—teeth, tongue and throat all conspiring to give him pleasure. He was too far gone to stop himself from thrusting to meet the back of her throat, but she accepted him readily.

Daenerys took her time, letting him slide out of her mouth every time he was on the brink of ejaculating. Then she would swallow him again, hollowing her cheeks with renewed ferocity only to once again deny him his release.

His growl of impatience rumbled through his chest and stomach. Still, he heard himself plead, “Please—your grace—”

Daenerys pulled back, his cock rigid in her hand. “Please, what?” she asked meanly, reaching down to squeeze his balls.

His breath stuck in his throat, then he gasped, panting, momentarily lost in the pleasure. “Let me—let me fuck you. Your mouth, your cunt, your sweet little arse— _anything_ , anywhere you want,” he begged, mindless with the need to spill his seed. Inside her, on her—her belly, her tits, her arse, her face. His mind was racing with all the possibilities. His skin was hot and sweaty, itchy in his discomfort. He felt like he was on fire, his thwarted orgasm singeing his veins.

“My arse?” she repeated, amused, twisting at the waist to look at him. His stomach swooped as she climbed off of him, turning to face him on her knees.  _Don’t stop,_  he wanted to beg, but she leaned forward and roughly grabbed his chin in her hand, lifting his face. “And what if it’s  _your_ arse I want to fuck, my lord?”

Jon stared at her, sure he’d misheard. “What?”

Shoving his face away, she reached that same hand between her thighs, sinking her fingers deep. Her cunt squelched as she fucked herself with her two middle fingers, and when she withdrew them, they were coated in her sticky lubrication all the way down to the knuckles. He watched, enraptured, as she reached between his legs next, bypassing his cock and sack and pressing her fingertips to the delicate, untouched skin there. She pressed into the flesh, hard, and he barked out a sound of shock and pleasure, throwing his head back as his cock jumped, his back bowing off the bed. His face grew hot with mortification as she stroked him between balls and arsehole, slicking that crease with her cunt’s honey. When he felt her wet finger push on the ring of muscles, he tensed against her. As patient as ever, she took her time teasing him, rubbing and pressing until, finally, she slipped inside, just the tip of her middle finger.

“ _Fuck_.” His groan was belly-deep, his pleasure so quick and shocking he felt his release upon him, ready to erupt all over his belly. He pushed back against her hand, wanting more, but, just as quickly as she’d penetrated him, she withdrew her finger, leaving him empty and aching.

Frustrated, he banged his head back on his feather pillow and cursed her. “ _Gods damn you!_ Let me come!” he roared, his eyes hot. He was done with the games, done with the teasing. His whole body shaking, Jon strained and yanked at his bindings to no avail, rubbing the skin of his wrists and ankles raw.

Daenerys straddled him again, this time facing him, and when she grabbed his cock and pressed it to her cunt, he nearly sobbed out loud. “You may come, my lord, but only inside me.” Then she sunk down on him, taking his cock deep into her heat, her cunt wet and tight and  _utter fucking bliss._

Bracing her hands on his chest, she rode him, slamming her hips down into his with loud, mewling cries. Jon tried to fight it, tried to delay his release, wanting to revel being inside her, inside the Dragon Queen whose cunt was like fire itself.

But it was impossible. “I’m going to come,” he groaned in warning, his hips rocking, lifting to meet hers. His balls pulled in tight as he fucked her from underneath, watching her tits bounce with every hard thrust, wanting her to finish with him, with his cock deep in her womb as he spilled his seed—

_—in her womb_ —

“ _No_!” He gasped, but it was too late; his cock was already spurting, hot and fast. With a strangled shout, Jon snapped his eyes open and flew up in bed, his chest heaving as he gulped for air. His heart pounded erratically in his ears, and he felt the faint ripples of pleasure down in his groin.

But he was alone. His hands and feet were free, and his tunic was soaked in sweat. It took him a moment to gather his bearings and shake off his bewilderment. Hesitant, he pushed his bed furs off his lap and reached a hand into his smallclothes. Sure enough, his still-hard cock was wet and sticky with his seed. With a groan, he pulled his hand away and wiped it off on his sheets.

How bloody embarrassing. He’d come in his sleep, like he was an undisciplined boy of three-and-ten all over again.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and dropping his head in his hands.

What in the seven hells had that been? Dreaming of Daenerys Targaryen—like  _that_ —Jon cringed, his stomach twisting in shame. It was wrong. And obscene. He didn’t know her. He was a guest in her house—barely. She didn’t even  _like_ him, he could tell that much. Their discussion in the throne room had bordered on hostile, and he’d walked away feeling like a fool for coming, like he was going to regret asking for her help.

That’s what it was: He felt like a prisoner, here in her castle. Helpless at the Dragon Queen’s whims.

Then…why had his mind perverted it so?

Because she was beautiful. More beautiful than he could have expected. There was something utterly captivating about her; it’d ensnared him the moment he stepped foot into her throne room. 

He huffed out a weak laugh into his hands and shook his head. Maybe the problem was him. There was something wrong with  _him_. He was sick. Demented. Fucked in the head.

Maybe, when he’d died, he hadn’t come back quite right. Maybe this was who he was now, these things he dreamed of were his deepest, darkest desires. Or maybe his time with Ygritte had twisted something inside him. Being her prisoner, falling into bed with her then falling in love with her, but always under the threat of danger, always knowing she could take his head if she discovered his true intentions. Did that danger excite him now? He didn’t know anything else, didn’t know any better. Didn’t know what it meant to love and want a woman on equal footing.

He’d come to Daenerys as a king in his own right. And still, around her, he felt as unsure and uncertain as the bastard boy he’d been in Winterfell.


End file.
